


The First to Fall

by maxride003



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Angst, FAHC, Fake AH Crew, Gen, much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 16:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13344729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxride003/pseuds/maxride003
Summary: The Fake AH Crew is targeted by an outside force.





	The First to Fall

No one knew where the first strike came from.

It came out of the blue, quick and violent and merciless, no witnesses, no one left to give a source or a reason. A hail of bullets, a crashed motorcycle, an explosion. All done in the dead of night, a side street where no one could see, a part of town few people wandered. By the time anyone arrived, there was no one remaining, a silence broken only by sirens and the crackling of flames. It was declared an act of gang violence, written off and brushed aside to join a long list of difficult to prove offenses, a thread of investigation left open and dangling by official channels.

Gavin was the first to fall.

His death devastated the crew. They were lost, scared, broken by the sudden loss of their friend. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. Not so quiet, anonymous. It was supposed to be guns blazing, middle of a heist, taken down doing something great. A stupid stunt gone wrong, an accident, a crashed vehicle, acted out on a dare or a whim, but spectacular nonetheless. Even kidnapped, subjected to horrible acts of violence, beaten and bloodied and torn apart at the hands of a vicious rival, that was more expected. Then they would have answers, a target, somewhere to shift blame, a reason. But they had nothing.

Sources, interrogations, police investigations, nothing gave an answer, no one told the crew what had happened. There was a wave of chaos, explosions and fireworks, stolen and wrecked vehicles, gunfire and colorful flares, the kind of destruction he would have loved. Their own memorial, a way to release their pain and anger, a reason to scream out at the world the best way they knew how.

The next hit wasn’t soon after.

It wasn’t as stealthy, no attempts were made to hide the act, but it still didn’t help. A busy street, middle of the day, people everywhere, no way to pinpoint the car until it was too late. The revving of an engine, a solid impact, the squeal of tires as it raced away, leaving tread marks burnt into the sidewalk. It came so fast, so sudden, no one could agree on the make, the color, the plate. All different accounts, so many terrified and conflicting witnesses, the car was long gone by the time it was identified. Another case to join the list of unsolved cases, with leads that went nowhere and not enough resources to pursue it.

The crew lost Jack next.

There was no bright night on the town, no destruction, no chaos. Not after that, not when the crew was so hurt and damaged, not when an air of fear and anger and depression sank over them like a blanket, not when it was difficult enough just to get out there and go. Small strings of mischief and mayhem sprung up instead, each person releasing their own tension, but it wasn’t as loud, not as organized. Short explosions rocked the city, cars were crashed, rival gang members died quietly and out of sight, but even these normal acts did nothing to help.

The Fake AH Crew scattered, disappearing into anonymity, fleeing to different areas so they’d be harder to hit, harder to lose. They looked into the attacks themselves, quietly, in the background, keeping low and hidden and communicating frequently, but with few leads. No one knew when the next attack could come, from where or by who, and each and every member was on guard.

It didn’t stop them from losing contact one by one.

The report reached their ears first. A driveby, a single car with guns blazing, the first with major collateral damage, with other deaths, other injuries. It was there and then gone, a black sedan, unmarked, unidentifiable. They learned this time, removing plates, tinted windows, cracked just enough for the muzzle of a gun and nothing more. A quick pass, a hail of bullets, and many left on the ground. The main target was never determined, not officially, but the crew knew.

They knew when Jeremy never answered.

The crew moved, but it didn’t help, didn’t keep them safe, and the hits came quicker. Another explosion, this one loud and powerful, unmistakable, no care for who else was around. The turn of a key, a click, the blast of a bomb, debris from the car and the street raining down. An attempt to leave, to move to a new safehouse, somewhere better, more secure, thwarted by someone who was never seen or heard, a bomb that was never noticed. Yet another case to be considered unsolved, yet another with no suspects, and a body that was difficult to identify.

Everyone knew that Geoff was gone.

The next was harder to describe, harder to figure out, no details or reports, simply the lack of a response, a failure to continue communications. There was no explosion, no gunfire, no calculated kill or brilliant display. Just radio silence, phone calls straight to voicemail, investigations into the safe houses coming up empty, no paper trail or signs of life. If it was a death, it was quiet enough to escape detection, far enough away that a body wasn’t found. If it was an escape, it came without warning, suddenly and unexpectedly, at the wrong time for it to occur.

Ryan vanished.

Within so little time, the crew was down to one. A single member, still clinging to life, still staying safe and keeping their crew alive. It meant little, there was no reason for it, the crew had died with its members, gone to the wind and never to be seen again. There was little reason to keep going without friends, without those that backed him up, those he loved and respected, but he pushed on. From safe house to safe house, searching for answers, for a solution, somewhere to go.

Despite the care, the attempts as secrecy and safety, the long standing success in the face of death, it came. It came in the dead of night, with silent steps and nervous breaths. The muzzle of a gun, barrel large and dark, light glinting off the metal, a bright flash and then blackness. It came from one man, one intruder, with access and knowledge, and a glint of golden sunglasses.

Michael didn’t push forward for long.

When all was said and done, there was one left, one that didn’t die, one that started the destruction. Gavin was the first to fall, the first to succumb, the first to listen to the whispers of an outside devil, of promises that crossed the line into lies. He was the first to be twisted, turned against the crew, with pretty words and direct attacks, focused on insecurities and fears withheld from the others.

He started it all, and in the dead of night, when the last Fake was gone, Gavin was the final hit.

A single bullet, a silent shot, whizzing across a large distance, the spray of blood. The crosshairs of a scope, trained at the height of his heart. He’d served his purpose, he was no longer useful, there was no need to fulfill what he had been promised, to follow through with deals that were made with handshakes and crossed fingers. With him, the crew was gone, dead or missing, to fade into infamy.

Gavin was the first to fall, and the last to die.


End file.
